Entering Rubber Society 4: The Streets

Katherine proceeded down the street slowly, each tiny step taking her only a few centimeters along her way. The rain was not strong, it seldom was in the city, but constant, providing a softening and blurriness to the distance. The damp streets and pavements could have been treacherous but she found her balance improving as she walked and the pavement did not seem to be slickened by the rain. She was thankful for the improved surface materials of the day and for the lack of oil and grease. She recalled that only a few decades before, cars and buses disgorged vast amounts of grimy filth into the air and onto every horizontal surface. She thought she remembered reading about terrible fogs, but that may have been from an even earlier time.

The first couple blocks from the Atelier Sutcliffe were quiet, the rainy streets almost empty and very few people passing her on the wide pavement. But the cross road two streets away from the studio was a major boulevard and the street was packed with pedestrians and vehicles. Katherine approached the intersection, where she hoped to have a better chance of finding a taxi, with some trepidation.

“I hope I can balance well enough,” she thought. Her appearance did not concern her. The smooth latex integument and the perfectly tailored garments were so comfortable, the fact she was in tight constraining white rubber wearing a matching gas mask had all but faded from her awareness. But she still felt a bit uncertain on her feet in the tall heeled latex boots.

As she came to the intersection, turning right to cross the street and join the flow, she noticed two things she had not before. On the one hand, the crowd seemed to part for her as other pedestrians made way for the vision in white rubber. She rapidly developed a bit of a bubble around her for which she was grateful. Much less chance of tripping or stumbling if she were not being jostled. Second, the sheer number of other rubber enclosed people in the crowd impinged on her mind, possibly for the first time.

The street was filled with people, and at least half of them were dressed in latex. There were plenty of people in casual cottons, wool suits, silk, rayon, and polyester dresses, and every other sort of cloth. But, as she looked and perhaps ‘saw’ for the first time, a surprisingly large amount of the people passing her and approaching her were in latex leggings, tops, dresses, jeans, shirts, coats, and a fair number were in heavy rubber fetish dress.

Catsuits, worn by both men and women, seemed to be everywhere she looked. Women in thigh high latex boots, belts, and rubber hoods of every description walked along, their faces either covered or framed by smooth, tight rubber. Men, typically in heavier fetish rubber than most of the women, promenaded along the boulevard as well. Many of the more extreme outfits were catsuits embellished with piping, buckles, straps, tubes, and restraints. Both genders favored corsets or suits with built-in boning to control and manage their figures.

Those people walking as couples were often linked by a leash or a chain. The pairings (and occasionally triples or larger groups) were established in all possible combinations. Mf, Fm, Mm, Ff, and at least one Ffm triple, whatever worked for the people involved. BDSM relationships within Rubber Society were fully accepted and no longer considered at all salacious. The PM was a lifestyle submissive, often led to public appearances in seriously confining rubber costume on a leash and collar.

The day was cool, but not cold, and the rain had slackened so the rubberised people had lowered any umbrellas they carried. A few in latex wore rubber raincoats but most did not bother with any special protection from rain. Katherine herself was well protected by her latex hat and total rubber ensemble. The folks with non-latex clothing were still holding open umbrellas, hustling quickly to get out of the damp. The result was a sort of natural partitioning of pedestrians.

Those in rubber, particularly those in rubber headgear, walked quickly, but unhurriedly, comfortable in the knowledge that their outfits were waterproof. They seemed to revel in the feel of soft rain falling onto their latex encased bodies. Those in other clothing walked in a separate band, huddling beneath umbrellas, annoyed by the dripping sky, and fearful of the damage water might do to their appearance.

Katherine found herself drawn effortlessly into the band of rubberised pedestrians, who seemed both cognizant of and sympathetic to her hobbled gait. They diverted around her and kept a free space around her so as not to jostle the obviously high ranked member of Rubber Society as she made her slow way down the road.

She caused a bit of a stir, just appearing in the crowd of rubberised pedestrians with her ultra stylish look and her constrained gait. Many people turned back to look at her as they passed and she noticed a few talking to each other as they watched. It came to her that even for the latexed crowd she was dressed more stylishly and elaborately than many.

For her part, Katherine began to enjoy the walk and the attention from the surrounding rubberised crowd, glancing at window displays as she passed, less and less concerned about her appearance or stability on the street.

She noticed a man approaching her in a grey pinstriped business suit, white shirt, and classic regimental stripe tie. His head was covered by a homburg, also grey in colour, sitting atop the perfectly fitting, full face, black latex hood which hid his face. His entire suit of clothes was made of medium weight latex, carefully printed in a conservative pinstripe. Katherine could tell, just by the exquisite fit of the rubber jacket and trousers, this was a bespoke latex suit, nothing off the rack. His hands were covered in black rubber as well and she quickly surmised he was in a total enclosure catsuit like her own. She noticed that he carried a black rubberised briefcase and, in the same hand, dangled a grey gas mask, also pinstriped.

His eyes caught hers and twinkled with a slight smile as he took in her stylish white rubber suit, gas mask, and hat. He nodded as they passed, his head turning to catch a view of her retreating rear, undulating sexily in her hobbling rubber skirt. She assumed he was smiling, but could not tell for sure; his hood had no mouth hole and a slight bulge under the rubber indicated he was gagged.

Katherine had, by now, walked five blocks down the busy boulevard not to mention the previous two blocks from Atelier Sutcliffe. She was comfortable in the drizzle, but the constant swinging of one foot before the other, taking only small, mincing steps as most of the other rubberised people passed her by, had tired her and she decided a refreshment was due. Drifting to her right, she exited the flowing band of latex encased walkers and approached a door set beneath a red rubber awning and guarded by a doorman wearing red latex livery.

Herbert George, the doorman of the Hotel Gummi for the last fourteen years, presented the epitome of liveried correctness dressed as he was in three layers of red latex uniform required by his employer. A bright red, total enclosure catsuit covered everything including his face with perforated circles at the eyes and mouth as well as two nostril holes. While he preferred to be gagged continuously, Herbert understood the necessity of being able to verbally converse with guests and staff.

His uniform, over the bright red catsuit, was also in red rubber consisting of baggy red trousers tucked into formal red wellington boots and held up with a red rubber cummerbund that doubled as a corset. His shirt was also in red rubber, tuxedo styled, with high collar and a set of ruffles down the front. A red rubber neck corset, higher in the back than the front, held his head in a firm, slightly bowed position and was adorned with a red rubber bowtie in the front.

Finally, a heavy red tailcoat, with gold latex epaulets and trim hung off his frame, draping him in a final coating of bright red rubber. On its back, in gold latex applique, was the coat of arms of the Hotel Gummi, a Fleur De Lis with Gas Mask Sinister (dangling from the right branch by the top strap, facing right. A matching red latex top hat was perched firmly on his rigidly bowed head, its brim trimmed with black latex.

Beneath all this, however, Herbert George was sealed in a permanent transparent latex skinsuit chosen for him by his mistress. She had the suit grown around him, molecule by molecule over fifteen years previously and it had integrated itself with his skin long since. It could never be removed now as it would literally peel his flesh away to do so.

Bodily functions were managed by the suit and his genitals were, at the behest of his mistress, tucked away and caged well out of sight if not out of mind. His mistress had replaced his scrotum with an extension of the skinsuit grown around his testicles. This allowed her to actually see them during the exquisite pain sessions they both loved so well.

His erections were totally owned by her and only allowed when she deemed. His climaxes were similarly proscribed, allowed only about twice a year, but his ability to ejaculate had been chemically removed which also dulled the sensation of orgasm even when allowed. He was eternally grateful to his rubber mistress for granting him the boon of being made so totally abject. Herbert George lived for the denial, frustration, and pain allowed to him by a mistress who fully understood his need to be forever confined, constrained, restrained, controlled, and punished by the latex they had both come to love.

In this totally rubberised state of frustration and torment, Herbert George had performed his duties as doorman at the Hotel Gummi for over fourteen years, one of its most contented employees.

Herbert George saw the incredibly beautiful vision in white rubber approach his door. He had, truth be told, spotted her half a block away, following first, her extravagant hat, then her extravagant gait, and finally her immensely appealing figure.

He felt his genitals pulse and strain as she turned and approached his door, but the cock and ball electrostim bondage his mistress had placed him in delivered delicious spikes of pain in response to his involuntary reaction. Quite used to this, he never showed it through his red rubberised face and merely gave the approaching goddess a slight bow as he held the door open for her to enter the lobby.

Katherine would ordinarily have nodded back in acknowledgement, but the neck corset prevented it. Consequently, her demeanor upon entering the hotel lobby was seemingly haughty. Unbeknownst to her, the doorman, far from being insulted, reveled in being ignored by such a creature. He purposely willed his genitals to respond, welcoming the resulting pain and promising himself he would confess his mental infidelity to his mistress this evening as she delivered his nightly discipline.

Katherine walked across the hotel lobby toward the bar. Everyone in the hotel was covered in latex. Indeed, Hotel Gummi was part of an Austrian hotel chain which catered only to Rubber Society worldwide and had a strict latex dress code for management, staff, and guests.

Only latex was to be worn in the hotel at all times and in all places. Guests actually signed an agreement to have no clothing except latex and to wear rubber any time they were out of their suite. Total rubber enclosure was expected after 7PM. During the day, bare arms and faces were grudgingly allowed in public areas, but rubber gloves were to be worn at all times. The hotel restaurants had more stringent requirements, particularly at dinner, from 6PM to midnight.

The hotel only provided three or four room suites, no single room accommodations. While one room was the bedroom the second room was configured as a play room or a dungeon. Between the two, a parlor provided a buffer. There were two full floor presidential suites with fifteen rooms which served visiting heads of governments or corporations who were members of Rubber Society.

All the surfaces, counters, desks, tables, were made of diamond, extruded (or printed) by fabs, crystal clear and impossible to scratch or break. Seating was spread throughout the lobby and included comfortable latex upholstered couches and chairs. The transparent design allowed guests to fully see and appreciate the elaborate latex styling of the staff and guests. Nothing blocked the view.

Guests came and went through the lobby dressed in all manner of rubber clothing. Staff were sealed in elaborate latex uniforms, business suits, and dresses. All staff members were gloved and hooded, many gagged, and some restrained. The staple uniform of the hotel was a total enclosure catsuit with perforated eyes and mouth in a different colour based on role.

Behind the registration desk, Katherine saw four women perfectly matched in 200 cm height. All were willowy thin, appearing emaciated, with perfectly globular breasts, which Katherine estimated to be a D cup, stretching their latex suits. They each wore the standard hotel uniform catsuit in maroon latex for front desk clerks. These were very severe rubber bondage outfits with corsets in maroon latex that narrowed their waists to ridiculously small sizes, no more than 35 cm. Harnesses of black latex straps crisscrossed their bodies and limited their movement. Their hooded heads also sported matching maroon gas masks with rebreather bags. The perforated eyes of the catsuit could just be seen through the goggles of the gas mask.

They had, fairly obviously, had themselves surgically altered to present this uniform, fetishistic appearance, probably as a condition of employment. As Sylvia had said, surgery was so fast and easy these days, a person could have themselves sculpted to whatever look they chose.

At this time of day, the four were busy checking guests in as quickly as possible. Other hotels used automated check-in which routed arriving guests directly to already assigned suites, but Hotel Gummi guests expected personal service. Although it took longer and was far more expensive to the hotel, operating four person rubberised front desk shifts was something Hotel Gummi was famous for. Arriving guests, often in extreme rubber encasement, with very specific fetishes, and being significant personages, enjoyed being served by fashionably fetishistic staff.

The hotel also catered to guests’ specific requirements by storing personal belongings including latex clothing and equipment between hotel stays so many guests arrived with virtually no luggage, secure in the knowledge that their suite would have been set up by the rubber maid service with latex suits, dresses, and gowns hung in the wardrobes, equipment assembled and arranged as prescribed, toys, gear, inserts, plugs and devices sanitized and made ready for use.

Many regular dominant guests had rubberised and encased submissives brought in by the hotel. When the guest entered their suite they found these already attached to storage niches ready for use.

When such a guest checked in they would find their specified evening clothes laid out ready to be worn. Toys would be carefully arranged on the bureau and submissives would be waiting in storage niches, costumed as specified. Dominant rubber couples were particularly fond of this feature since they often travelled without personal submissives and wanted easy access to latex bound slaves they could use and forget.

Regular submissive guests could arrange to find themselves immediately at the beck and call of a professional dominant upon entering their suite. Many businessmen preferred this as opposed to seeking out a master or mistress after check-in.

To Katherine’s right, a group of young women dressed in rubber sheath dresses chatted about the wedding they were all in town for. The member of their group in the most relentlessly confining blue rubber dress was probably the bride, Katherine guessed.

The young girl, about 20, maybe 21, was in a metallic blue sleeveless latex sheath dress which molded itself to her curves perfectly and which fell a good ways below her knees, the hem narrowing to provide a hobble. Her lower arms and hands were in matching blue rubber bondage mittens padlocked together behind her back. She wore a blue latex fascinator atop her shaved head.

Her feet were sheathed in 25 cm spike heeled platform pumps of gleaming black rubber with an amazingly exaggerated vamp and extremely pointed toes. Her calves were covered in transparent latex stockings with a dark blue seam running from the heel up under the dress. Her status as the submissive bride was confirmed by the severe engagement corset she wore around her neck, adorned as it was with a large diamond.

Her companions, probably bridesmaids, wore similar dresses in a variety of colours, but none were in quite the level of constraint as the young bride to be. Two were wearing open faced hoods which were part of their dresses and several wore fashionable latex fascinators attached to their heads, also hairless.

Many women in Rubber Society kept themselves bald since they almost always wore hoods and hair was just an annoyance. For weddings it was traditional that any brides be completely hairless and typically all bridesmaids were as well. In Rubber Society, hairlessness had come to be as senselessly associated with purity as white wedding gowns had once been. Nonetheless, weddings were steeped in tradition and most latexed brides followed them happily, including the ritual removal of all body hair by bride and bridesmaids during the bachelorette party (or parties if two women were being joined in matrimony).

The sight of the bald young women reminded Katherine that she still had hair under her black latex hood. She kept hers short anyway, so it had not been an issue when Sylvia placed her in the tight black rubber skinsuit.

Across the large open lobby, at the concierge desk, two women in rubber burqas were gesticulating with the concierge, a tall, slim man in a dark grey rubber business suit over a black uniform catsuit. He was gesturing for them to wait a moment and Katherine caught the words,”-- translator will be here in just a moment.” Looking closer, Katherine realized the two rubber veiled women were actually using sign language, their monochromatically rubber gloved hands flashing symbol after symbol at the man, then turning to each other to carry on a private conversation. “Probably telling themselves what a dunce he is for not being able to speak,” she thought. She had heard of this; women who were not only veiled in rubber, but who were also gagged to make it impossible for them to accidentally speak to a stranger verbally. “They must be Rubberim,” she told herself.

As she got closer she saw a woman emerge from behind the concierge in a very tight, black latex dress, sparkling with diamond-like highlights. It was long sleeved and fell to just below her knees. The legs of the diamond black uniform catsuit she wore under the dress sparkled, rising out of black, spike heeled pumps.

Her hands were gloved in matching diamond speckled black rubber gloves and she wore a glittering latex hijab and niqab over her rubber hooded head. She had come out from the offices behind the concierge. Immediately she began signing to the two latex burqa clad women and seemed to quickly find a common sign language. She then began to translate their requirements to the concierge. Katherine could tell, just from body language, that everyone was visibly relaxing as communication through latex was restored.

Continuing her promenade across the lobby, Katherine came to the entrance of the hotel bar. She went inside, and encountered a maître d’. He was dressed in a severe black latex tuxedo, wearing a full head gas mask similar to her own white one. Behind the lenses of his gas mask, Katherine could see that he too wore a hood with perforated eye holes. She supposed he was wearing a black skinsuit like the others she had seen on hotel staff. He was not as tall as she, given the height of her heels. His hands were covered with a pair of white latex wrist gloves, covering the black ones of his skinsuit.

“A banquette, if you please.” Katherine still found the sound of her voice odd coming from within the gas mask.

“Of course, madam. Please follow me.” The maître d’ bowed slightly and proceeded to a line of upholstered benches along the back wall. The lighting was low but comfortable, intimate without being annoyingly dim. The décor was relentlessly modern. The entire bar seemed covered in mirrors, but the constantly shifting reflections actually served to give a sense of privacy and intimacy. The seat was upholstered in rich green latex and Katherine noted that the dominant colour in the bar seemed to be green.

The bar was moderately busy, about a quarter of the tables occupied. Waiters moved about quietly and efficiently, handing out drinks, answering questions, clearing tables. All were in identical rubber catsuits, faces completely covered with perforated eyes and mouth, just as the doorman had been. But these catsuits were emerald green latex to match the décor and each wore a white rubber apron. Some waiters were female, some male, but all wore green rubber, knee high, spike heeled boots. “Interesting,” thought Katherine.

The maître d’ swung an oddly shaped table out for her and she carefully slid into the seat, smoothing the hobble skirt as she did so. The tabletop was mirrored so she saw herself from an interesting angle as she sat. The banquette was placed so that her hat was safely away from the wall and could easily be retained on her head as most women would choose to do.

The maître d’ swung the table back into place. “May I bring you a drink, madam?” his voice was hardly muffled at all by the mask and Katherine understood him clearly.

“A Vodka Gibson, please.” Her favorite drink. Katherine felt no need to specify the brand or ask for top shelf. Everything in Hotel Gummi was ‘top shelf’.

The maître d’ retreated and Katherine realized she would have to remove her white rubber gas mask to imbibe. Looking around she saw that most of the clientele had done the same, laying folded gas masks on the table or on a seat next to them. A few had tubes emerging from their mask serving as straws dipped into drinks, but Katherine neither had such an attachment nor would have used it. A Gibson was not for sipping through a straw.

She proceeded to remove her hat, then peeled the gas mask from her head. The bright white rubber of her gas mask was unmarred by the time spent in contact with the gleaming black latex of her hood. She laid the gas mask on the table near to hand and placed the small gas mask purse she had carried from the atelier next to it.

Katherine replaced the bright white latex hat on her head, checking her reflection in the mirror behind the bar to be sure she had the same acute angle Sylvia had positioned it at. Satisfied, she pressed the brim slightly to re-attach it to her rubbered head.

While she waited for her drink, she checked her reflection in the tabletop and pulled a lipstick from the small gas mask purse. Quickly, she touched up the deep ruby red lipstick she always wore. It stood out sharply against the black rubber of her hood. Satisfied with her strange new appearance, she restored the lipstick to her purse.

A moment later the maître d’ approached with her drink on a tray. She heard his breath catch a little as he saw her unmasked. The white gas mask had hidden the startling contrast of her black hooded head and the white chapeau.

“Is there anything else I can get you, madam?” Used to seeing just about anything, the maître d’ had quickly recovered his rubbered poise. He placed the martini glass in front of her with a white gloved hand and laid a napkin next to it.

“No, thank you. But tell me, are you both maître d’ and waiter? I would have thought the bar had a full complement.”

An embarrassed chuckle emerged from the man’s mask. “We do, I assure you. Janos will be your waiter. But we always treat our Rubber Society VIPs with a little extra service and I deliver the first drink to them.”

Katherine started to correct him about her status, then thought, “Why not. If he thinks I am some higher up in Rubber Society, it must be because of Sylvia’s suit - probably the hat. I shall not disabuse him of the notion.”

Katherine picked up the drink in her gloved hand and carefully brought it to her lips. She could feel the latex of her hood touching the glass below its rim as she tilted it slightly to sip. She managed a delicate quaff from the martini glass without dribbling any onto her rubber covered chin or down her exquisite suit. Picking up a napkin she patted gently at ruby red lips and again felt the sensation of touching her face through the smooth layer of latex. It was so sensuous that she found herself stroking her own cheek slightly with the back of her hand.

“Everything is a bit different in this,” she thought. “Things feel different through the latex, I am more aware of my sensations than usual. I wonder if that continues or fades with time?”

“It continues, actually.” A pleasant male voice spoke to her.

Katherine jerked slightly. “Did I say that out loud?” she thought. Her gaze had been aimed at the table and her reflection as she contemplated the feel of rubber gloved hand against latexed cheek. She brought her head up to see who had spoken.

Standing at her table was the man in the grey latex pinstripe!

“I apologize if I startled you,” he said. “I just noticed what you were doing and quickly inferred you were asking yourself if the sensations of rubberisation continue or fade. I apologize if I was mistaken.”

“That is precisely what I was asking myself. How did you know? And why are you here?”

“When we passed earlier on the street there was a certain something in your eyes or maybe in your walk that said to me, “This is new to her.” But you were dressed in absolutely stunning Atelier Sutcliffe haute couture, specifically patterned for you, not from her catalog. Hard to imagine how a new recruit to Rubber Society could wind up in a custom designed outfit by the world’s premiere confining latex designer. You were a mystery, so I came back this way hoping to find you and ask. I saw you enter the hotel and, I confess, followed you in here.”

“You stalked me?”

“Perhaps a little, but not obsessively. I simply wanted to meet you and ask how you were enjoying your latex experience. I was afraid you would head up to a suite, but caught sight of you entering the bar.”

Katherine was suspicious to some degree. It was a bit unsettling to think she had attracted not only the gaze but sufficient interest by this person for him to follow her into a hotel bar. Nonetheless, she was a journalist and it would be interesting to learn his story. And, after all, they were in a public space.

Smiling slightly, she said, ”My name is Katherine Duane. Yours? And I thought you were gagged when we passed on the street.

“Richard Cranston, at your service,” he said with a slight bow. “I was gagged, I usually am while on the street, but I removed it when I completed my business in the other direction.”

“Richard Cranston as in Sir Richard Cranston, Lord Cranston’s nephew?” Katherine was taken aback.

“Guilty as charged. May I join you?” The tall, well built man in the grey pinstripe latex suit indicated the chair in front of the table. His eyes, mouth, and the shape of his rubberised head were all handsome.

“Y-yes, please do.” Katherine stuttered slightly. This man was renowned in Rubber Society for his culture, his business acumen and his appreciation of the arts. Of course, he might still be a cad.

Cranston took the seat across the table from Katherine and placed his briefcase on the floor beside him. As she had done, he set his distinctive grey pinstripe gas mask on the table, folded over. The maître d’ arrived with the martini Cranston always drank. “I’m known here,” he said by way of explanation.

“That is a most interesting handbag,” he said. “Is that also from Sutcliffe’s?”

“Yes. She transforms children’s gas masks into the purses. Quite the thing, I gather.” Katherine tried to sound nonchalant. “Tell me, Sir Richard, do you often follow women into hotel bars?”

“Not as often as I’d like.” He smiled, his grey latexed face lighting up seemingly through the rubber. They too were grey. “And call me Richard, please. The ‘Sir’ is only for state occasions.” Katherine found herself captivated by his eyes.

“Please, Ms. Duane, tell me how you come to wear one of Sylvia’s finest suits? Just the whim of a wealthy woman or have I missed you all this time at Society gatherings?”

“No, I work for News and Entertainment. I am to cover Lord Waldron’s daughter Lucretia’s presentation and was sent to Sylvia Sutcliffe for an evening gown. She is making that, but convinced/made me agree to wear full latex for the next several days to become acclimated to it. This is the suit she put me in to return to work this afternoon.”

“Ah, Duane, Duane – You normally cover food, don’t you? Restaurants, imported luxury foods, that sort of thing? I read your postings quite often. I love your writing. I confess I’m something of a gourmand.”

“I do. Apparently my boss was double booked and has assigned me Society coverage for the night. If I do well, it may become permanent.”

“Excellent! If you carry off the evening with as much poise and panache as you showed just walking down the street, you’ll be writing Society stories in no time.”

Katherine smiled at the compliment. “Thank you, Richard. And please, call me Katherine.” Almost despite herself, Katherine was warming to this man.

“So, this is your first time in latex.” Katherine could not quite tell if it was a statement or a question.

“Yes, it is. I’m quite used to latex around the office and our publisher is Lord Reynolds. But I have never been interested in it. I was just noticing how different everything feels through the rubber. Both less and more sensation seems to accompany every touch.”

“Indeed, it does. That sensation, as I said, will not fade with time, even should you adopt latex as a total lifestyle. It is why so many of us feed this fetish. The sensations are exquisite and never ending.” Richard sipped his martini.

Katherine could feel her drink loosening her up. Quite a delicious sensation when melded with the all over hugging sensation the catsuit provided. Quite out of nowhere she found herself wondering if Richard Cranston was shaven headed under that grey hood.

To her right, Katherine noticed the two burqa clad women from the lobby being shown to a table. “Interesting pair, that,” she said.

Richard followed her gaze. “Yes I saw them with the concierge as I passed through. Rubberim, I believe.

“I thought so, too, since they seem to be gagged. How will they drink anything here?”

Richard explained, “Feeding tubes. Rubberim are permanently gagged, but they use nasogastric feeding tubes to consume nourishment and refreshments. Their drinks will be delivered in large irrigation syringes, 60CC or so, and they will take them under their burqas and slowly inject the drink through the tube into their stomachs. Gets the effect of alcohol, but they never taste anything but rubber.”

“Why do that?” Katherine was confused. She’d heard that Rubberim were strict, but permanently gagged? She had not heard that.

“They take a vow to never experience anything but rubber mediated experience. That includes permanent gagging so they taste only latex and breathing apparatus which pipes latex aroma to them with every breath. It is a total submissive lifestyle, but submission more to the latex than to a dominant other person.

“The burqas are to remove any visual evidence of their individual identities. Body shape, age, or personality, all is extinguished, in their view, as submission to the rubber material itself. They believe that each of them is the same as far as the latex is concerned and should be interchangeable as far as other people are concerned.”

“Are they rubberised under the burqas?

“Oh yes, fully sealed in skinsuits, typically with every orifice plugged and lined with rubber. And, all their latex in any outfit must be the same colour. The one in orange? She’ll have an orange skinsuit on under that, probably orange rubber corset and collar, and most likely an identical orange dress, hobbling and confining, over that. Three layers is normal, ten layers for some of the more devout.”

“So, it’s a religion?”

“In a sense, They believe in the divinity of latex. They worship a giant rubber object on an island in the Pacific. They make a pilgrimage to it and it slowly rotates as they approach it. Sometimes it takes one of them from the queue and consumes them. They are never seen again.”

“OK,” Katherine could think of nothing else to say, but watched as the two women were given huge syringes filled with cocktails. They both took the syringes under the burqas, their gloved hands covered in identically coloured latex as their burqas, one orange, the other blue.

Shortly thereafter, the two relaxed back in their chairs and their hands emerged through slits in the rubber tent-like garments. They began a sign language conversation, their hands occasionally touching as well as signing.

Katherine looked back at Richard. “You have me at something of a disadvantage. You know my work. Tell me what you do.”

“I’m the silent partner in a few businesses. My favorite is a little French restaurant and my most lucrative is an AI and robotics company.”

“Those are rather diverse. Does anything like a real job occupy you 5 hours a day like the rest of us?” She smiled as she said it, to take away any sting.

“No, I am, technically, unemployed.”

“Independently wealthy, then.”

He laughed. “Not if I fail to pay attention to those businesses I mentioned. Mostly, I attend meetings at one corporation or another. Some are ones I own, others I advise as a board member. I spend a lot of my time with the art museums, advising on acquisitions and sales. My education is actually in art and conservation.”

“The art museums?”

“Yes. The new collection of Robinnet electrostatic sculptures at the Modern Art Museum? That is one of my projects. She passed on about five years ago and I worked for two years to secure a large collection of her amazing works. I’ve just donated half of them to the museum and I am consulting on the acquisition of several others from private collectors around the world. She is particularly popular in the Pacific rim, Japan and the Koreas.

“Why did you only donate half your collection?” Katherine’s journalistic instincts flared.

“The others are not really museum quality. I enjoy them personally, particularly the erotic ones, but they don’t work in a museum where they cannot be used interactively.“

“I confess, I don’t know her work that well, though I’ve heard of her, of course. What is it like?”

“Her early work, which was suitable for the museum, concentrated on controlled electrostatic fields to bring about artistic effects. She has a beautiful sculpture of John Lennon, you recall, the musician active about 190 years ago. The sculpture is made of tiny micron sized pieces of glass, each one specifically cut, etched, and polished to form a specific piece of the sculpture. You stand there, in front of the display and stare at this random pile of glittering dust so fine you cannot see the individual pieces.

“Then, her shaped fields come on and the dust jumps into the air, swirls around, and suddenly you are staring at a slowly rotating bust of this man who died in 1980 while one of his best compositions, Imagine, plays quietly in the background. When the song ends, the fields shut off and the bust collapses into a pile of glittering dust again. Fifteen seconds later the sequence repeats.

“She did several of those commemorating major historical figures of the past including Whedon, Hawking, Jolie, Kim, and Kurikami. Her bust of Prime Minister Watson is absolutely gorgeous. It is fairly recent and shows the PM in her final rubberised totality.”

“I’ve seen some of those. They are amazing. I shall have to visit the exhibition.”

“There are other sculptures where she manipulates electrostatic fields to create complete computing devices that have no material parts, just interacting fields. And her work with electrostatic artificial life forms is completely revolutionary.”

“She sounds more scientist that artist.”

“No, it’s all artistic. But her medium depends on some of the most advanced technology we have today. Even fifty years ago the ability to manipulate these fields to this level did not exist.”

“What about the pieces you kept? You said some are erotic?

“Yes, she did several pieces that were very explicitly erotic revolving around her own sexuality. There are a few nude sculptures in the museum collection. Her models were always Joanna, her wife and Polly, their daughter. But she did others of herself and her two subs in their BDSM lifestyle that were more rough edged.”

“Surely you don’t mean they were too risqué for public view?”

“No. They’re explicit and highly erotic and somewhat violent, but that would not keep the museum from exhibiting her works. She was an extreme sadist with Joanna and Polly as deep masochists. The works record some very gentle, erotic and beautiful scenes with the three of them as well as some amazingly violent scenes where Robinnet seems to flare into sadistic fury, egged on by her masochistic family.

These works, however, are more rushed and not as finely tuned or focused… literally rough edged. Almost as if they were preliminary tests for other work. Also, they call for participation by the viewer which just wouldn’t work in the museum.

“Participation?”

“Yes. These are large sculptures that the viewer stands in. As the sculptures build and play out the scenes which are sometimes very disturbing, the fields also play upon the participant causing sexual arousal, climax, or pain and suffering depending on options chosen when the playback starts.”

“My god,” Katherine said. “That must be incredible. Do you do all that while remaining rubberised?”

“Actually, it’s the only way. Robinnet and her family were all heavy rubber fetishists and you have to invest in a special total enclosure suit of conductive rubber to participate in these.”

“How do her wife and daughter feel about such sculptures? Did they agree to people participating?”

“We’ll never know. They all suicided together and left no instructions or comments about their collective work.”

Katherine looked across at the table at the man in the grey latex suit. “You have interesting tastes.”

“I do. But I am neither a sadist nor a masochist. Some fun bondage and discipline, rubber inflation bags or vacuum beds and pleasant electrostim are mostly my ticket. I recognize her work, however, as being of import and providing a serious look into her soul and those of her wife and daughter.”

Richard began to rise. A subtle gesture signaled the maître d’ the check was to be charged to his account. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to be going. I’m very happy to have reversed direction and come in to meet you, Katherine. Might you join me for dinner this evening?”

Katherine was not particularly surprised at the offer, but was surprised at her ready willingness to accept. “Whoa, girl. Let’s still be cautious,” she said to herself. Aloud she said, “Yes, I would be delighted, Richard.”

“Where shall I collect you, then.”

“ I have some late work. Let’s meet at the restaurant. Which one?” Katherine was not ready to share her address yet, even though he was Sir Richard Cranston.

“OK, let’s say Bondi’s at 9?”

“I shall meet you there. Bondi’s isn’t the restaurant you’re invested in, is it?” She smiled on asking this.

“No, I’m invested in Club Celeb, but it’s not a good place to get to know someone.”

Katherine’s eyes widened. Club Celeb had a very racy reputation for all it catered to the highest of Rubber Society. Definitely not the place to get to know someone.

“I must be going as well,” she said. Magically, the maître d’ appeared and swung the table out of her way. Katherine slid out of the banquette and stood smoothly, seemingly without effort. Other patrons could not help but notice the attractive rubber couple, the stylish cut of their clothes and the serious restriction of Katherine’s suit and heels.

The two new acquaintances re-applied their gas masks, Katherine doffing, the donning her hat once again.

“I must say, Ms. Duane, that hat is the most striking aspect of your outfit – after your eyes.” Richard smiled politely as he delivered the compliment formally.

“Why thank you, Sir Richard. May I say you look most dashing in that gas mask, matching your suit as it does.” They both laughed under the carefully applied latex isolation of the gas masks.

They walked slowly to the bar’s door, the entry to the hotel lobby. Katherine was much more stable in her heels now and no longer minded the small mincing steps she was forced to take. Richard walked slowly and stayed with her as a gentleman should and the other customers in the bar watched the confined gait of Katherine in her gleaming white latex with appreciative interest.

The maître d’ waited for them at the exit. His demeanor told them he was most pleased they had graced him with their presence. They exited the bar and began making their way across the huge lobby to the main doorway. Katherine noticed several more guests in serious rubber restraint.

A man in a heavy rubber outfit with a dildo gag in his mouth and a leash around his neck held by another man, considerably thinner, but in a pair of casual trousers and a rubber blazer.

A woman in a simple and elegant semi-transparent purple latex dress, loose skirted with fitted bodice and short sleeves. She wore black wrist gloves and transparent stockings. The suspenders were vaguely visible under her dress. High heeled pumps completed her outfit. She wore no catsuit and sported a full head of hair. “Very stylish,” Katherine thought.

Richard nodded in agreement.

Approaching the door, held open by the doorman, Katherine said, “I am amazed at how comfortable all this latex is.”

As the two exited the hotel, past Herbert the red rubber doorman, Richard said, “I was raised in Rubber Society and have never worn any other material. I still, however, find its constant embrace and loving resistance a comfort. I honestly can’t imagine being dressed or presenting in any other way.”

“Well, that raises a few more questions in my mind. But they can wait until this evening,” Katherine said quietly.

“Indeed. I must go this way,” he indicated the way from whence they had come. “May I summon you a taxi?” None were in sight and the doorman, usually quick to summon taxis, seemed at a loss.

“It is still raining, you’ll never get one in all this. I can walk.”

“Nonsense! Just a moment. Richard pulled a comm out of his trouser pocket, tapped a button, then stepped off the kerb and raised his arm. In less than ten seconds an automated taxi pulled over, its door opening silently. “Another company I invested in.”

He handed Katherine in. She discovered that modern taxi seats were made for hobble skirt wearers. The seat swiveled about and moved slightly out of the taxi’s door. She sat on it straight and let it bring her into the taxi and swivel around to face front. The traditional vast amount of legroom was still maintained in the automated taxis.

Richard tapped the door close button and Katherine lowered the window after the door slid shut. “Thank you for the drink and the pleasant conversation. I shall see you tonight at Bondi’s,” she said her eyes smiling; they were the only part of her face still visible.

“The pleasure was all mine. I shall leave your name with the maître d’ so if you arrive before I do there will be no confusion.”

So saying, he backed away a step. Katherine raised the window and watched as the tall man in his grey rubber suit turned away and walked back the way he’d come.

Katherine told the taxi, “The News and Entertainment building, please.”

The taxi’s speaker responded, repeating the destination and stating the precise address. It pulled away from the kerb and joined the flow of traffic remaining the precise distance from the autos in front of it.

“A new reporting responsibility, a complete rubber wardrobe, a meeting with a most interesting man, and two possible stories to be developed. Not a bad day’s work!”

Katherine settled back into the automatically enfolding seat which molded itself to her contours. She closed her eyes and concentrated on feeling the diffuse sensation of latex hugging, comforting, restraining, and controlling her as the automated taxi made its way back to her office.

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17.06.14